Page 81 of The Game We Played

I obey. Cold water hits my tongue and I nearly groan. I dump half the bottle over my head, water streaming down my face and neck.

“You’re overheating.” She scans my face. “Your pupils are off.”

I huff out a weak laugh. “You been reading medical textbooks now?”

“No,” she shoots back. “I’ve been watching you.”

Her words land somewhere deep in my chest.

“You didn’t slow down once,” she continues. “Not even when you were swaying.”

“I wasn’t swaying.”

She lifts an eyebrow. Okay. Maybe I was.

“Sit,” she orders, pointing to the bench.

I drop down before I can argue. She presses another bottle into my hand. Then, a cold pack against the back of my neck. She’s efficient and focused. Like this matters. LikeImatter.

“You don’t think this is stupid,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her gaze snaps to mine. “Your job?”

“Yeah.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“This,” she gestures to the field, to the players, to where Gage is being checked over, “is one of the hardest things I’ve ever watched.”

I blink. She sounds serious.

“You push your body until it breaks. And then you get up and do it again. How could anyone think that’s stupid?”

My throat tightens. My family’s voices echo in my mind.It’s just a game. A waste. A phase.

“You love this. I can see it all over your face when you’re out there.”

“I do,” I admit.

“I know.”

She’s not judging me. Not doubting. She believes me. She believesinme.

Coach’s whistle cuts through the air again. “Back on the field!”

I stand, slower this time.

Alaia catches my hand before I can step away. “Don’t pass out.”

I smirk. “Worried about me, gorgeous?”

Her grip tightens. “Yes.”

She’s not teasing. Not deflecting. She’s being honest and truthful.

The realization hits harder than any tackle. Even one from Corbin.

“I’ve got you,” I tell her.